Chapter 59 – Quinton #2
I watched the shift happen. She set the fork down with a precision that had nothing to do with dinner, her fingers lingering on the edge of the plate.
Her eyes lifted to mine, and the worry that had clouded them all evening was gone, and replaced by something hotter.
She'd made a decision. I could feel it through the attunement before she moved: her pulse shifting, her blood warming, her body choosing me over whatever darkness had been pulling at her all day.
My blood magic stirred, sensing her pulse quicken, the heat rising beneath her skin.
She turned on the stool, swung one leg over mine, and settled into my lap in one smooth motion.
“Done,” she purred, hands sliding up my chest.
I gripped her hips, thumbs pressing into bare skin just above the lace. “Good girl.”
The words slipped out before I thought about it. Her eyes darkened, breath hitching, and my pulse kicked up in response. I’ll never tire of that reaction.
“You wore that on purpose,” I murmured, fingers trailing along the lace at her hip.
She smiled, slow and wicked. “Maybe.”
“To drive me insane?”
“Maybe.” Her hands fisted in my shirt. “Is it working?”
I leaned in, mouth brushing the shell of her ear. “What do you think, Sweetheart?”
She rolled her hips against me, and I groaned despite myself.
“I think,” she whispered, lips grazing my jaw, “you’re still wearing too many clothes.”
She kissed me hard, all teeth and tongue and hunger. Her hands slid to the hem of my shirt, tugging insistently. I broke the kiss long enough to pull it off and toss it aside. The moment my chest was bare, she was back on me, hands roaming over skin, fingers tracing muscle and scars.
“Better?” I rasped.
“Much.” She threaded her fingers through my hair, pulling me in again, rougher this time, her teeth scraping my lower lip until I groaned. But I could feel something else, too. The weight she was carrying. The exhaustion. The desperate need to stop thinking, to just feel.
“Quin.” Her voice came out breathless. “I don’t want slow tonight.”
I paused, reading the shift in her tone. “Yeah?”
“I don’t want careful. I just—“ She swallowed, eyes meeting mine, fierce and hungry and just a little desperate. “I need you. Now.”
And there it was. That raw need beneath the bravado.
I cupped her face in my hands, thumbs brushing her cheeks. “Tell me what you need.”
“You.” Simple and direct. “Just you, Quin. I just want to feel.”
I searched her face, saw the weight she’d been carrying all day, the worry about her mother, the questions she couldn’t answer, the exhaustion pressing down on her shoulders.
She needed release. She needed to let go.
“All right, Sweetheart,” I murmured. “I’ve got you.”
I stood, lifting her with me. She gasped against my mouth, legs locking tight around my waist. I turned, pressing her back against the nearest wall, pinning her there with my body.
The lace bunched up around her hips as I pressed against her, and that's when I felt it—slick, hot warmth coating my stomach where the lace had ridden up and bare skin met bare skin.
My brain short-circuited.
She'd been sitting at that counter the entire time. Eating dinner. Talking about her mother. Looking me dead in the eye while she chewed. And the whole time she had nothing underneath. Just her, wet and ready, separated from me by a scrap of lace and whatever self-control I had left.
“Fuck,” I breathed. “You’re not wearing anything under this.”
She smiled, wicked and shameless. “I know.”
She’d been sitting there in nothing but lace, driving me insane without even trying.
“You’re going to kill me,” I rasped, kissing down her jaw, her throat, feeling her pulse hammer beneath my lips.
“Maybe,” she whispered, hips rolling against me. “But what a way to go.”
My fingers found her, slick and ready, and she whimpered, head falling back.
“Tell me, Az,” I breathed. “Tell me what you want.”
She shivered, legs squeezing tighter, hands fisting in my hair.
The flush crept up her neck. She was always beautiful when she was embarrassed, always sweeter when she fought through it.
I watched her wrestle with the words, biting her lip, eyes going wide as I rocked against her again.
She was still learning this—asking for what she wanted, owning her desire out loud instead of burying it.
Every time she managed it, something fierce and proud swelled in my chest.
“Want you to?—“
I waited, holding her there, not moving. “Say it, Azaria. You know I’ll give you anything you ask for.”
Her breath hitched. Then she found it, that steel beneath the blush. “I want you to fuck me, Quin. Right here. I want you to fill me up and fuck me senseless.”
The leash snapped.
“Good girl.” I replied rough, full of pride. Her eyes went darker, a shiver running through her whole body.
I didn’t make her wait. I freed myself, pressing into her, filling her with one deep stroke, and the heat of her nearly undid me on the spot.
Tight, wet, and scorching, her body pulling me in like she’d been made for this.
I swallowed her cry with my mouth, pinning her against the wall with my hips, both hands gripping her thighs to hold her steady.
She arched against the stone, nails scoring my shoulders, and I set a pace that left no room for thought.
My blood magic flared wide open; not just sensing her now but drowning in her.
Every spike of her pleasure bled into mine, amplified.
Her arousal was a hot, golden pulse beneath my skin, mixing with my own until I couldn’t tell where she ended and I began.
When she clenched around me, I felt it twice: once in my body, once in my blood.
I’d been with women before. Plenty of them.
But it had never felt like this, not even close.
Without the attunement, sex was just bodies.
Sensation, release, the usual. With Azaria, every nerve in my body was tuned to hers.
I didn’t just feel her pleasure—I lived it, breathed it, drowned in it.
And the more she let go, the harder it hit me.
“That’s my girl,” I rasped against her throat, driving deeper. “So fucking perfect. You take everything I give you, don’t you?”
She sobbed my name, half a laugh, half a cry, holding nothing back.
Her thighs trembled around my hips and I felt her body go tight, the orgasm ripping through her like a wave, and through the attunement it crashed into me too, white-hot and blinding.
She broke apart in my arms, and the sound she made—raw, wrecked, and beautiful—sent me over the edge with her.
I came hard, buried deep inside her, her name torn from my throat. My blood sang with it, every nerve lit up, her pleasure and mine tangled together until the world narrowed to nothing but heat and her and the frantic slam of two hearts trying to sync.
For a moment, we just stayed like that: breathless, tangled, bodies slick and trembling against the wall. My forehead pressed to hers, our breaths mingling in the small space between us. When I finally found my voice, it was rough but gentle. “Feel better?”
She let out a breathless laugh, burying her face in my neck. “Better. Much better.”
“Good.” I eased her legs down, carefully, making sure she could stand. She was shaky, eyes glazed, lips kiss-swollen. I kept my arms around her, refusing to let go just yet.
“Wait,” I murmured. I reached out and snagged a clean cloth from the kitchen counter, soaked it with warm water from the pitcher, then kneeled, cleaning her up.
She watched me the whole time, and when I finished, I pressed a kiss to her knee, then stood, catching her in my arms again. “Come on. Let’s go to bed.”
She nodded, leaning her weight into me, letting me carry her upstairs. I laid her down, pulled the covers over us, and slid in beside her. I pressed a kiss to her hair, tucking her close, and held her until her breathing evened out and her body melted into mine.
Whatever weight the day had pressed on her, it didn’t reach us here. Not with her warm and alive in my arms, breathing slow and steady, and wholly, wonderfully mine.